


Nursing 101

by themthere_taterthings



Series: Hellooo Nurse! Verse [5]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-01-28 05:36:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12599368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themthere_taterthings/pseuds/themthere_taterthings
Summary: The early days of Tony's nursing career... before his love life was the biggest thing he had to worry about.





	1. Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is the prequel to Hello Nurse!!! Some backstory bits that I'll release a little at a time, they're chronological but not necessarily cohesive :) Also, just a little reassurance to everyone that I'm not dead and I am still writing for this verse!!!  
> Beta'd by drink24get! Thanks so much!!

Tony’s starving. He doesn’t think he’s ever been as hungry as he is right now. The fact that it’s his own fault is no comfort. He’s only officially been in his new apartment for two weeks. Apparently, that’s not even long enough to have completely unpacked the five boxes that make up the entirety of his life.

The biggest box is just nursing textbooks.

It’s depressing, but the facts remain that he has not unpacked his meager belongings and he has not gone grocery shopping in far too long. In short, he has no food and is a sad excuse for a functioning adult.

Tony’s stomach gurgles and it’s uncomfortably loud in the relative quiet of the break room. He hears a throat clear behind him and he whirls, embarrassment slightly warming his face. He’d been staring at the vending machine hopelessly and hadn’t even noticed anyone else coming in.

“Umm… pardon me,” he says, unsure what the polite response is when one’s stomach is loudly trying to claw its way out of one’s body.

There’s an older gentleman sitting at one of the tables closest to the door, maybe in his late fifties. His salt and pepper hair is perfectly unruffled and his pristine and unwrinkled blue scrubs give the man an aura of dignity that leaves Tony feeling particularly uncouth. He’s not sure if he even combed his hair this morning and he definitely pulled these scrubs out of a box. He sniffs subtly; yeah, that musty smell is definitely coming from him.

He’s relieved to see one corner of the man’s mouth quirked upward in humor, though. “It’s quite all right.” The man’s even got a sharp British accent; talk about refined!

Tony just smiles a little and turns back to the vending machine to stare at the food there again. It’s not like he has any money on him anyway. In a fit of what he knows had to have been insanity, he had purged most of his savings account on a king sized memory foam bed and the highest thread count sheets he could afford to go with. It was a congratulations gift to himself for graduating nursing school and landing a job.

If he weren’t so hungry, he’d be sleeping like royalty.

Sighing heavily, he trudges toward the door, head down so as not to make eye contact with the other man and to avoid looking at his lunch. He’s just reaching out a hand for the knob when he catches a whiff of the other man’s meal and it smells absolutely divine. His stomach immediately responds with a growl that’s even bigger than before and actually a little painful. One hand reaches for his middle as if he could smother it into silence.

“Not eating lunch?” The man asks softly, without judgment.

Cringing inwardly, Tony plasters on a smile, and turns to the man, forcing his hands down and his gaze upward. _Look at him, not his food_. The man has kind eyes as he quickly rakes over Tony, probably noting all at once the very slight tremor in his hands from low blood sugar and his too thin frame. He tries not to fidget under the scrutiny, all too aware that nursing school was tough on his budget and his body.

“It’s been a rough week for groceries,” he says with a self-deprecating shrug.

“We’ve all been there a time or two. Would you care to join me? I’m afraid the portion sizes from this particular establishment are a bit large for me.” He gestures at the large sub-sandwich in front of him with breadsticks and a Styrofoam container of what smells like minestrone.

Tony is practically drooling onto his shoes, but this guy can’t be serious, right? Who just offers a stranger half of their lunch? “Are- are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude…” He trails off, distracted by the strange motions his hands are making. Gods, he’s an idiot. What a great first impression he must be making.

“Of course, please have a seat.” The man puts half of the sandwich on a napkin and pushes it over to the other side of the table with two of the breadsticks. He smiles gently at Tony, as if dealing with a skittish animal and it’s that expression that makes Tony sit.

“Wow, uh, thank you. This is really amazing of you, you have no idea,” Tony gushes, wanting to dive in but still aware that he does have manners.

“You’re quite welcome. It’s nice to have company for a change. I’m Edwin Jarvis, but everyone here calls me Jarvis.” He holds out a hand for Tony to take.

“Tony Stark. I’m the new LPN on nights.”

“Ahh, yes, I’ve seen you around. We’ll probably be working together more frequently going forward. I’m just getting back to night shifts as well.”

Tony waits for Jarvis to start eating before jumping on the sandwich. It’s a meatball sub and it’s maybe the most amazing thing he’s ever had. He groans despite himself, talking around a mouthful. “Oh this is incredible! Where did you get this?”

“It’s Lenny’s Deli, a few blocks away. It’s a guilty pleasure really.” He leans closer and stage whispers, “I have to take a cab to make it in time.”

Tony laughs in response, taking another bite as quickly as he can. “It was well worth it in my opinion.”

“It’s one of my better discoveries since moving here.”

“Yeah? How long have you been in town?” Tony isn’t the best at making friends; too untrusting and brusque, but a little small talk couldn’t hurt, right? The guy did share his lunch, after all. It would be rude to just eat and run.

“It’s been just a bit over five years, now.” Jarvis dips a breadstick into his soup before continuing. “Switching careers was definitely a worthwhile endeavor.”

Tony’s eyes widen. Not many people are brave enough to switch careers at this guy’s age, especially to something as physically and emotionally taxing as nursing. “Really? What from?”

Jarvis smiles a little at his incredulousness. “Hospitality. I was manager for one of the larger hotels in the area; it’s what I’d been doing for years. The kind of career you just fall into until one day you realize you’ve become complacent and could be doing more instead of catering to the whims of the rich and powerful.”

He sounds bitter, talking about his old job and Tony wants to ask why the switch, but he gets the feeling that Jarvis is too private and proper to tell that to someone he just met. “If it makes you feel any better, my first degree was in business management and economics.”

A complete waste of money is what it was. A pathetic attempt on his father’s part to save his failing company. Just another opportunity for Tony to let him down.

“Really? What made you decide to go into healthcare instead?” Tony evaluates the man in front of him for a moment, but can only see genuine interest in his expression. No hidden distaste or mockery. There’s a momentary temptation to tell the truth, to say that the business world ruined his life and that the only concern and care he’d ever received had been from a string of nurses whose names he would never know.

But that’s just the hunger talking. No one has time for anyone else’s sob story. No one really wants to know. To be self-centered is to be human. That’s what Tony knows. So he dismisses that brief flash of insanity and goes with something a bit less loaded.

“Eh, never did have a good head for business, but people… Well, bodies are like machines. They’re the sum of their parts, they need preventative maintenance, and some TLC when they get into trouble.” Tony smiles at his metaphor. That is a true statement. He’s always had a good head for machinery and thinking of the human body as a different sort of engine made nursing school a lot easier.

Jarvis nods slowly, as if he’s debating calling out how full of shit Tony obviously is, and Tony sighs inwardly, relieved, when the man responds with a mellow, “That’s an interesting way to think about it.”

Tony takes another ginormous bite of sandwich, which is honest to god, the best freaking sandwich he’s ever had in his life! After swallowing, he continues, “It’s easier for me that way, anyway. I built my first engine from scrap when I was seven.”

Where did that come from? Personal history is a definite no-fly zone. He shouldn’t even have sat down. What’s the point of starting over if he’s just going to bring his baggage with him?

It had been inspired from a competition he saw online from some college out west where engineering students built engines that ran on novel new fuel sources but were essentially motorized couches. Tony’s had been more of a motorized antique ottoman, but it was awesome.

Now it’s Jarvis’s eyes that widen in surprise. “Really? That’s quite impressive. Your parents must be very proud.”

Tony’s only response is an overloud snort of derision that makes him jolt upright in his chair at the intensity of it. Jarvis looks more than a little taken aback at the vitriol in his response and Tony probably looks like a deer in the headlights. _Crap_ , he hopes he didn’t offend the guy by acting ‘ungentlemanly’ or whatever.  

 “They were busy people, you know how it gets,” he says hunching over the table, quickly shoving the remainder of his sandwich into his mouth and chewing fervently.

“Indeed,” Jarvis agrees almost absently, seemingly mesmerized with how fast Tony’s eating, or maybe mildly concerned.

Tony ignores it as he cleans up his trash, wipes his mouth with a napkin and holds out his hand to Jarvis once more. Jarvis wipes his own fingers on a napkin before reaching out. They clasp hands firmly, the older man still a little flabbergasted, but he seems like a sharp guy (maybe too sharp) and he’ll get over it.

“Well, thanks again Jarvis for sharing your lunch I –,” he’s suddenly at a loss for words. He fiddles with the hem of his scrub top briefly before he catches himself. He can’t remember the last time someone had given him food beyond the free-for-all snack crap buffets at the popular school study corners. It means a lot to him, but it probably isn’t a big deal for most people.

“You’re quite welcome, Tony,” Jarvis cuts in before he manages to back himself into an awkward conversation corner. “And I hope to see you around more often.” His smile is now warm and kindly and Tony soaks in the friendliness like a plant in a drought. He can’t help it but berates himself all the same.

Trust and friendship lead nowhere in the real world.

“Same. Later, J,” he says, saluting with two fingers and slipping out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More background for Tony...there's anxiety and some references to off-screen character deaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this chapter for a long time and I'm not quite satisfied with it but I'm sick of working on it!!! Hahaha :)

Tony has an odd feeling that today is going to be a bad day just as he’s stepping out of his apartment building. He’s not generally one for ‘odd feelings,’ putting no stock in such banalities, but he hesitates on the stoop, nonetheless. For a brief moment he contemplates calling in sick. The moment is very brief as he’s distracted by the nip of fall air on fingers that are woefully absent of a travelling coffee mug.

If he had a well-insulated thermos, his fingers would likely still be cold but at least he would be _awake_.  With his finances still firmly in the ‘scrounging’ state, he’d bought bread this week instead of coffee and the caffeine withdrawal is hitting him quickly and without mercy.

 _At least there’s free stuff at work_ , and it’s that thought that finally spurs him onto the sidewalk with a step that looks more decisive than it feels.

He’s on night shift again, and likely will remain so until he has some seniority, but he doesn’t mind. It’s less busy out on the streets anyway and he can take his time walking to the subway and enjoy people-watching along the way. There are plenty of people out and about that think it’s Fashion Week every week and continuously fall short of fashionable. Sure, his internal monologue is a little judgmental and mean, but that’s why it’s internal, right?

Speaking of which… he slows to fully appreciate a pair of stiletto-heeled sneakers with knee-high laces; a fantastic mix of impractical and… nope, they’re just impractical.

The ‘sneakers’ pass and his gaze falls to the newspaper bins that line the sidewalk outside the subway station. They usually never warrant his attention, _who reads print these days?_ , but today his eyes are drawn to the time-fogged plexiglass windows. The headline hits him like a ton of bricks, his heart leaps into his throat along with his meager breakfast contents. His pulse is suddenly racing and his palms sweat. He jerks his gaze violently back to the sidewalk, stumbling away as the pavement blurs in front of him.

The trial has finally made it to the front pages.

He doesn’t want to know the details _, he doesn’t want to know anything!_ and he’d told Detective Fury to keep him as far removed from the investigation as possible and it had been a blissful ten months of no news. Out of sight, out of mind and all that, but now his subconscious _has_ to know.

The sudden reminder that the trial is ongoing despite his lack of attention is jarring to his entire system. The not knowing is suddenly an incessant niggling at the back of his head, like a darkly dressed stranger lurking too close in the night, until he gives in – not even balking at grabbing a copy peeking out of the nearest trash bin.

Halfway through the article he bends to vomit in the same trash bin, wipes his mouth with a rough, crinkly corner and tosses it on top of the mess. He’s sweated through his bottom-most layers and is trembling but he continues to work anyway. At least Jarvis isn’t on tonight; he’s really the only person there who knows him remotely well enough to see that he’s not about four seconds from a breakdown.

He’s not sure how he gets to work, but he’s suddenly standing at his locker, hands shaking too hard to fiddle with the finicky and ancient dial lock. It’s normally quite frustrating, but right now he just feels weirdly dissociated – like he’s been transplanted to another planet altogether.

Eventually he succeeds, though, and pulls on his scrubs like an armor. Each piece locking away his old self and replacing him with the highly competent, “Hello, I’m Tony and I’ll be your nurse for the evening.”

Clean black long sleeve undershirt.

_His parents are long dead. They can’t judge him for where he is now._

Mint green scrub bottoms. Tied securely at his waist.

_Every last bit of Stark Industries, including the staplers, scrapped and sold to get the debt collectors off his back._

Matching scrub top. Make sure the tag is tucked in.

_Obadiah Stane denied bail and accused of racketeering, assorted FCC violations, and conspiracy to murder._

Lanyard with photo ID and stethoscope.

 _Goodbye ‘Anthony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries,’ and hello ‘Tony, LPN Nights, Emergency Department_.’

***

He’s on edge, though, for his entire shift. It’s like he left a portion of his awareness outside the subway, or maybe back on the stoop of his apartment but he doesn’t feel as though it’s _missing_ , per se. He’s still giving as much attention to his patients as normal, but somehow he’s also circling outside of himself, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Hypervigilance – that’s probably what his old therapist would have called it. Some sort of survivor reflex brought about from all the stress he’d been under at the time. Not to mention the well-founded paranoia from being constantly stalked and picketed by disgruntled ex-employees. Tony had done the best he could but many felt that their severance packages were lacking, never mind the losses the Stark family had experienced or, _wait for it_ , the fact that none of the blame actually belonged to them.

Whatever name this may have been given by his psychiatrist, it’s damn annoying to deal with. The ER is a thriving den of chaos, full of blood and fights and high emotions. It’s utter shit to work in when every masculine yell has him flinching, nearly dropping whatever is in his hands out of long-engrained habit and panic.

There.

Tony freezes in place. It can’t be.

Just in the corner of his eye, a flash of skin. A tall, bulky, bald man.

The chart he’s holding slides to the floor with a crash and his lungs are tight with anxiety.

Stane is here. In the hospital.

He needs to run, to yell, to _get away_ , but he’s stuck in place unable to breathe. Unable to think.

_No. NoNoNoNoNoNo. **He can’t** **be here!** _

The man turns and it’s not Stane. Of course it’s not. Stane wasn’t allowed bail and Detective Fury would have told Tony if that had changed. Relief rushes through him and almost drops him to his knees. He grabs the nearest wall to steady himself until his legs stop being made of jello. There’s a moment of shame for his cowardice but the aftereffects of the adrenaline rush take priority. He needs some coffee or something _stat_ or he’s actually going to hit the floor.

He just needs a moment to himself, to gather his thoughts and his wits then he’ll be fine. Gesturing a wide fingered hand at the receptionist, barely waiting for her nod of acknowledgement before he’s running off for a quick five minute break. _Strategic retreat_ , _don’t be such a pansy._

Subconsciously he gravitates to the coffee machine by the staff locker rooms. The coffee it dispenses is actually disgusting and has a consistent burnt flavor that’s probably due to the machine being on for at least a decade, but it’s strong. It’s amazing that most of the staff hasn’t been hospitalized for heart palpitations, it’s so strong.

Acceptable risk, really.

His eyes close and his head _thunks_ back against the wall he’s leaning on. He focuses on the reassuring scent of coffee, and imagines the warmth of the recycled paper cup in his hand permeating up through his arms and into the cold, anxiety-riddled nooks and crannies of his body.

Speaking scientifically, the caffeine should be ratcheting up his heartrate but he’s trained this psychosomatic reflex very well. Coffee is calming for him, it always has been.

It works almost too well and he nearly jumps out of his skin when the machine loudly coughs and splutters out another cup for someone standing entirely too close for comfort. It’s the new nurse on nights that he hasn’t been introduced to yet, but he’s seen her around.

“Didn't mean to startle you,” she says with a terse smile, eyeing the coffee dripping off his hand from where it leapt over the lip of his cup. His own smile is probably equally faltering as he flicks the spilled dregs onto the floor.

“It’s fine, just daydreaming.” He’s not fine, though, and his daydreams are the stuff of nightmares.

She nods and proceeds to blow on her drink before sipping daintily. There’s no other wall space to lean against with the station being shoved in a corner between the break room and another set of wide doors open to the ER, so they awkwardly stand near each other, not speaking, gazes skittering away whenever they meet accidently.  

She’s intimidating, that’s for sure. Her vibrant red hair is harshly pulled back in a no-nonsense, ballerina bun with not a single strand out of place. It shows a lovely amount of pale skin and equally lovely facial features, but her flat expression and black scrubs liken her more to an angel of death in Tony’s mind.

Not that he would ever date a colleague, anyway. That would be unbelievably messy no matter what  guidelines he might put in place. Besides, as paranoid as he’s been lately, he’d rather be with a man just to feel that pure physical hindbrain sense of safety that came with being wrapped in a pair of giant burly arms.

He entertains the thought of hitting a club and catching someone for a night, but he dismisses it quickly, shuddering to imagine a stranger in his apartment - letting them _touch_ him, _see_ him in such a vulnerable state. What if they’re just a plant? Someone with a grudge who knows his tastes?

_Look how easy it was for Obie to get his parents._

The tremors in his hands return because there were so many letters, so many threats and undeniable hatred for the Stark family. He’d moved, cut all ties with would-be friends, and changed professions; Tony hid, but he hadn’t disappeared.  

_Would it really be that hard to find him?_

He shakes his head violently to dispel the thought along with the phantom feeling of fingers on his neck. It doesn’t work, bringing forth the memory of his mother’s throat on display at the morgue - the imprint of Obie’s college ring disturbingly recognizable amid the bruising.

He throws back the remaining dregs of his coffee, gagging at the lukewarm bitterness.  With a small wave to the yet unnamed redheaded nurse he strides off, knowing that his dark thoughts are going to follow him for the rest of his shift but that’s the usual nowadays.


End file.
